


Stay

by Get_below_my_line_of_vision



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25211488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Get_below_my_line_of_vision/pseuds/Get_below_my_line_of_vision
Summary: After a fight against soldiers, Enjolras is left for dead.Grantaire is a doctor, desperate to save any lives after this violent protest.
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent & Grantaire, Enjolras & Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite from my work in 2018- I just want to see if my writing's improved.
> 
> For now, I will only be writing gifts (evident from my recent works lol). This is an exception :)

Frost bit at his fingers, gnawing with pleasure as numbness replaced sensation. Frequent hallucination tricked him into thinking he could move; that he could travel to his friends and be comforted by their healthy wellbeing. Those tangents of imagination would be cut off after a minute or two as Enjolras was anchored back down to reality.

It was difficult to breathe, his heart being strongly weighed down, pushing down on the mud he lay on. The air was thick, like water, causing his lungs to be blocked. He was practically drowning. Slightly, he could move, but he knew bones were collapsing in him. In other words, he was cursed, pinned down, struggling to breathe, on the damn ground.

In gaps of his pain, Enjolras had enough strength to open his eyes but the light was too strong, having him to descend back into the abyss of his dark thoughts. When he was able to witness his situation, he realised it was day already, and that the weak sun was rising. Yet he was so cold… Crying, Enjolras faintly called out for his friends but he knew there would be no echo. He wished everything was a dream; that no one had given their life for the pointless fight. Why did they have to follow him? There was too much grief for him to keep inside that he burst. With his jaw stretched, he wailed silently, no voice manifesting in his tired throat. Inside, he knew he was breaking apart. Everything in him continued to collapse.

There was so much he wanted to do- so much he wanted to express. How he wanted to express his love to his friends. How he wanted to give home to little Gavroche. How he wanted to assure Les Amis they were brave heroes. Yet fate mocked him while regret strangled him. It was selfish. He had always been selfish. Enjolras knew as soon as he lead the group this was how it was going to end. However his friends… they knew it too. More than spitting at him, they shook his hand, wished for luck, and marched with him.  
He squeezed out hot tears. He led them to their deaths.

Accepting his fate, Enjolras closed his eyes for good. Calmly, he allowed his last breath to escape. He let numbness consume him.

“You’re alive.” A hoarse voice observed.  
“Barely,” A feminine voice spoke, trembling in her words, “He’s going to…”  
“It’s okay.” The man lifted Enjolras’ head slightly, enough for his hand to cushion him. In response Enjolras slowly opened his eyes. “I’m here. I’m a doctor. Don’t worry, I’ll inspect your wounds, okay?”  
Enjolras hummed but no words were constructed. The man knew what he meant nevertheless and slid his hand away to work on his injuries.  
From the corner of his vision, he could see a blonde woman, handing the doctor complex medical tools Enjolras could not decipher. The woman was beautiful and young. It was strange to see such innocent-looking person in an aftermath of destruction. Catching her eyes briefly, the woman mirrored his expression. Enjolras failed to recognise she had the same thought as he did when she saw him.

While he was being bandaged up, Enjolras felt… safe. This was a foreign feeling for him- something he had not felt apart from with his close friends. This new man, a stranger, was able to make him feel warmth, more than the sun could.  
“Cosette,” The man ordered, “Quick, fetch hot water for me.”  
The woman nodded hesitantly and promptly stood up as she ran away. Watching her leave was like watching hope fleet away. Exhausted, Enjolras tried to reach out for her until a warm hand touched his.  
“It’s okay,” The doctor assured him, “She’ll be back soon, and you’ll be alright.” He smiled.  
It wasn’t painful to see anymore. But despair could not be easily drowned out. “Just…” He pushed out words out of his paralysed mouth, “Leave me.”  
The doctor furrowed his eyebrows.  
“Leave me… To die.”

There was a nervous chuckle, a deep one. It wasn’t full of anything, rather, it was empty. “I won’t let you do that.”  
“I have… no reason to live.” A tear fell out of his eye, but it wasn’t of misery. He could finally express something. It was ironic, he thought, in the moments of death he strangely felt joy.  
“You do have a reason to live,” The man assured him, pressing his hand on his chest gently, “All you have to do is think. Something. Someone!” He hurriedly returned to healing him.  
The people he wished to live for were scattered around, dead. There was no one to believe in anymore. No one who would aid him… But then a person appeared out of nowhere. This doctor, this man… “What… is your name?”  
“Grantaire.” He didn’t even glance at Enjolras, completely focused in helping him.  
“Y…you.”  
Grantaire froze.  
“I will live for y-you…”

The nurse- Cosette, he remembered- returned with a large bucket in her arms. She huffed as she lay down the heavy bucket, parts of the hot water within spraying the grass around it. “It’s okay,” She muttered, repeating the phrase.  
There was another person who cared for him deeply… Enjolras gave a subconscious smile, still incredibly tired. Darkness whispered to him, but Enjolras was happy. His eyelids may have been burdensome, but he preferred reality; where there were people who still cared about him. Even if he was anonymous to them.  
Grantaire hurriedly put Enjolras’ forearms into the bucket. “This is to make sure your hands still work when you’re back to normal.”  
Enjolras almost scoffed. There was no belief of survival at that moment.

“What is your name?” Grantaire’s voice was soothing and calm, especially when he removed a strand of hair from his face softly as he spoke.  
Sleepily, he met his eyes, “Enjolras.”  
“Enjolras…” He echoed, meaning every letter. “Okay. I’m going to make sure your leg is in the correct position. It’s going to hurt.”  
Grantaire’s eyes left his before he could give a proper response.

Whatever he did, it hurt immensely, causing him to lie back onto the ground with a loud groan. It might have been because at least one part of him was in the right position, but the pain felt liberating, almost. As Grantaire fixed him more, there was a growing hope which made him feel lighter. But Enjolras knew too much of reality. He had learnt harshly that to hope was to be delusional.  
Cosette tried to lift his torso, until her strength faded away as she informed feebly, “Grantaire… His wounds…” She didn’t finish her sentence.  
It was fairly easy to grasp the situation in his head as it was logical. All thoughts arrived at the same destination” He was going to die.

“Just… leave, please.” He began to plead, “There’s no point, and… And I’m… tired. So… tired.” He viewed himself as pathetic as he wanted to whine. Why waste energy on an inevitability?  
Grantaire lifted him so his leg was supporting his back so they could meet eye to eye easier, “You are going to live. I trust you. We’ll make it through this.”  
He smiled a little. His passion reminded him of the past. There was no one so determined for a lost cause. “I’m glad you’re here, and I’m not alone.” He muttered as he closed his eyes.  
Grantaire stroked his cheek in a silent plead for them to open again. “I’m not giving up on you.” His voice was stern.

Enjolras could feel Cosette had stopped aiding him. She had stopped for a long time now. Grantaire had stopped, too.  
Enjolras thought he had given up on the world, that there was no future for him. Yet he could see one facing him. He could have met him by accident one day. Formed a friendship, even love each other. They could have had a happy, long life without any pain like this one. They could have been carefree for eternity. Enjolras didn’t have to be so fixated on a revolution. All which weighed his thoughts could have been Grantaire.

The world around him became muted. Enjolras breathed in brokenly. He knew what this meant.

"Grantaire?" He whispered, lacking of energy. Every word he spoke was painful.  
"Yeah?" He had hope in his eyes, his beautiful black eyes. He wanted to stare at them for as long as he could. He focused on them. They were of a captivating shade.  
"Your eyes, they're beautiful, it's all I can see."  
"Yes." Grantaire murmured, still watching Enjolras, his eyes refusing to leave his.  
"It's all I can see," he repeated, quieter, "Your dark eyes."  
"Yes." Grantaire comforted him.

"It's very cold." Enjolras muttered, his energy drifting at every second.  
"I know." Grantaire nodded slowly.  
"I don't want to go."  
"Then don’t.” He whimpered, “Look at my eyes, and only them."  
"It's all I can see," Enjolras' smile widened.

Grantaire paused for a long while, smiling, full of pity, but Enjolras didn't notice.  
"It's beautiful. Perfect darkness...Your eyes..."  
"Yes, isn't it so?"

Enjolras' breathing slowed. "Stay." He whispered.  
He kept silent.

Grantaire stared at him, finding it too difficult to let go of him. With his watery eyes, he looked up at Cosette. “He's dead."


End file.
